


Give Me Something

by djhedy



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence, Depression, Lots of kissing, M/M, POV Jean, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, exy times, jean moreau is sad, probably, sexy times sure but nothing explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-04-05 07:07:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19043626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djhedy/pseuds/djhedy
Summary: “Believe me, Jean,” Kevin said, and he reached out to fist his fingers in Jean’s shirt. “We’re finally safe.” Kevin’s face was a breath away from Jean’s, eyes firm and sure, glaring into his face, willing him to believe him. Jean didn’t know what to believe. The ground was shaky beneath him. He had nothing to lean on. No foundations against which to test these truths.“Je dois retourner,” he murmured again.---Jean Moreau escapes from the Nest and tries desperately to make a home at the Foxes with Kevin at his side, but it's hard when he can't feel very much at all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> okay so... i dived hard into jerejean a few weeks ago and got the idea for this fic. to explain the shipping would be a spoiler alert lads so uh trust me and enjoy the ride. good way through the writing of this already so will be uploading once a week :) probably 16 chapters, but we'll see... much love <3 -hedy xxx

"Keep your prison locked up,

And I will leave my gun at home.

I don’t want love."

-The Antlers

 

Prologue: #3

 

Jean cradled his head between his pillow and his arm. The pillow was soft, but it scratched against his cheek like sandpaper. If he moved he felt skin stretching and tearing beneath bandages, so he stayed as still as possible. But having nothing to pay attention to except his body meant feeling his legs twitching underneath a still upper half, aching to move, restless. He frowned, and it was enough to pull his whole face away from his hairline, which made his scalp twitch and pain thudded through his head.

            He had known pain before, and he knew this would pass.

            Light was rising in the sky and spilling into the bedroom, so Jean cautiously moved his free hand to tug up the blankets higher, arranging the soft material around the tightness and pain on his face. After a few tries he found a way to block out the sun without anything touching the worst bits, and settled again.

            He counted pains like anchors. Moved through his body inch by inch, twitching a muscle or using fingers to dance gently against skin, mapped out the worst of it.

            Yesterday had been a waking nightmare. He hadn’t been lucid enough to separate pain from body then, had just felt it like fire raging endless against every nerve in his body. Some distant part of him had acknowledged he was being moved, had heard Renee discuss his situation over his head, had let her guide him to the car, had bit back tears as someone buckled a seatbelt over him.

            It had been years since he last cried, and he wouldn’t do it for the first time in front of a Fox, even if it was Renee, even if she thought she was helping.

            He’d tried explaining twice last night.

            “I have to go back –” he said, teeth clenched, breath heaving, leaning one hand against a doorframe, everything tense and unbearable.

            “No, Jean, you don’t.” Renee’s voice was calm and quiet, but it sent fury through his chest.

            “Don’t act like you understand,” he heard himself snap, and closed his eyes, lungs tired from the effort of holding himself upright, stars dancing under his eyelids.

            “I understand better than you think,” Renee said softly, and before Jean fainted he heard the quick footsteps of Abby running to help catch him.

            The second time he’d made it down the stairs – excrutiatingly slowly, and with every pathetic step, every inch of progress he felt anger and misery course through him. What use was he to anyone in this state, how pathetic to be in so much pain. At Edgar Allen pain had become second nature, he’d pushed himself through this before, and he didn’t understand why everything felt so heavy, like it wasn’t just the pain holding him back but the weight around his chest.

            He pushed himself through it, made it to the downstairs hallway to see Renee sat by the front door, legs bent, a book in her hand. She looked up at him, grimaced, and stood up. “Jean –”

            “You can’t keep me here.”

            He fixed his face – blood pounding under his skin – and glared at her.

            “No,” she said, nodding. “I can’t. But I’d appreciate it if you’d wait.”

            “For what?” he said, low and heavy, uncaring about the answer, already flipping through his mind for arguments he thought would convince her. He needed her to take him back; he had no money, no car, nothing. He needed her to take him back, and the longer he stayed here the worse it would be, and she had to _listen_.

            “Well I’d like it if you’d talk to me, listen to what I have to say, but I think it might be more convincing coming from someone else.”

            Jean raised his eyes to meet Renee’s. In a thunderous tone he said, “If you bring him here I’ll kill him.”

            Renee didn’t flinch away, and Jean hadn’t expected her to. They understood one another. “Who do you mean,” she asked quietly, “Neil? Or Kevin?”

            Jean lowered his eyes. Exhaustion was slowly overtaking the adrenaline that had got him down the stairs. “I have nothing to say to Kevin,” he managed, and let himself sink against the wall, let it hold him upright, held a hand flat against his pounding head as if the weight of it would hold him together.

            “But he might have something to say to you,” Renee said, and as she spoke she moved towards him. She stopped a metre away and waited.

            Jean’s eyes were fixed on the floor. He waited for words to surface in his head, but they were all in French, and he was too tired to think, and thinking about Kevin made him want to punch his split knuckles into Abby’s peach wallpaper.

            After a while Renee carefully placed her hands on his arms, and guided him back to bed.

            And now sunlight was crashing unwelcome into the room, and his headache was getting worse. He willed himself to sleep, _just sleep, just sleep, just sleep_ , and perhaps he did, or perhaps he merely dreamed sleeping, but sometime later someone knocked on the door and entered the room.

            He heard something being placed on the table next to him, and then Abby’s voice saying, “Jean, you need to eat. I’ve left some fruit and more painkillers next to you. Finish the water.” When he didn’t move or reply, she added, “Call me if you need anything,” and left the room.

            It took a while for Jean to get up the courage to move. When he did he winced through it, using arms to haul himself into a sitting position, leaning against the headboard then pausing, waiting for some of the pain to recede. Once it had he slowly got the painkillers and the water and downed two, and then settled back into his pillows, and waited for them to kick in.

            He allowed the throb of pain to distract his thoughts, gave each area of his body a score out of ten for soreness, watched through narrowed eyes light moving slowly across the room, picked at an uninjured patch of skin, sucked on fruit and dreamt of easy sleep.

            Jean’s only possession – his cell phone – sat patiently on the bedside table. He’d eyed it a few times, knowing he wasn’t brave enough to turn it on. Not knowing what demands would exist on it. He knew he’d have to turn it on again eventually, but his heart beat faster at the thought. He considered turning it on briefly enough to text Kevin to tell him not to come, to tell Renee not to bring him, but just as he thought that he heard the front door open, and voices filtered through the house.

            Jean tensed. He was sat up in bed, body numbed by painkillers, wearing someone else’s shirt and sweatpants loose round his body.

            He didn’t want to see anyone. Irritation pulled at his skin, but he knew he was trapped. Knew that numb skin didn’t erase his injuries, that although he’d done nothing but lie down in a bed for two days he was too exhausted to leave the room let alone the house. Knew, distantly, that if anyone came to see him he wouldn’t have to speak to them. He fixed his gaze on a far wall, arms crossed tightly over the blankets, and heard footsteps on the stairs.

            When Kevin opened the door, the first thing Jean felt wasn’t surprise, or anger, or claustrophobia, but an intense numbness. His mind emptied of words, the still air and quiet sunlight replacing them as he stared at the desk at the end of the bed. He let his eyes wander over the old wooden top: it was littered with pens, one missing a cap; a stack of paper untidy in one corner, the top overspilling and he traced down the side of the desk to see paper fallen lightly on the floor; one drawer slightly open, but he couldn’t see the contents; a desklamp –

            “Jean.”

            – pink, switched off, head pointed towards the middle of the desk in anticipation; heard Kevin move into the middle of the room; found a paperclip nestled half way under the base of the lamp –

            “Are you going to look at me?”

            – and, further back, a few more nearer the stack of papers; words started clawing back up through his throat as he wondered where the pot of paperclips were, whether there were others, as he battled against paying attention to Kevin, thinking about the guy stood in his room, against the heat climbing up through his body.

            “ _If you won’t look at me, will you listen?_ ” Kevin had switched to French, and anger spilled out of Jean’s mouth.

            “ _Ne pas_ ,” he spat, throwing the words into room with every ounce of energy his had. He kept his gaze on the desk, and switched to English. “If you must be here, speak in English. You don’t get to speak to me in French. I’m not interested in your pity.”

            Slowly, Kevin lowered himself so he was leaning against a chest of drawers. He waited a minute before saying, “Ok.” Minutes passed, and Jean’s heart was beating against his chest. All he felt was anger, hot anger, and he tried to count objects on the desk, but he couldn’t distract himself.

            “Get out,” he said eventually, gaze unmoving.

            In the corner of his eye he saw Kevin straighten. “I’ll speak in English.”

            “I’d rather you didn’t speak at all.”

            Kevin’s patience broke. “You think I want to be here? You think the bane of my life didn’t insist on it? Christ, Jean, this is hard for me too.”

            “I don’t care that it’s hard for you. I don’t care about anything you have to say, and don’t make the mistake of thinking I do.” The words pounded through his head, and he only heard himself say them afterwards, closed his eyes, berated himself for losing his temper.

            He’d seen Kevin only a handful of times since Kevin had left the Ravens, always when they were at matches, or the exy banquets. They hadn’t been in a room alone together in over a year. But he’d thought he wouldn’t care. He _didn’t_ care. Kevin –

            “Fine,” Kevin responded, his voice flat and emotionless. “But I said I would come here, and that I would try to convince you to stay, so that’s what I’m going to do.” He didn’t pause to let Jean interrupt, and anyway tiredness was overtaking Jean’s body like a flaring fever. “I have been running scared from Riko for over a year, and where has it got me? I can’t say I have all the answers, because I don’t. I don’t know how to run from him, and I don’t know how to stand up to him. But I’m _here_ , Jean. I’m existing away from him. I’m terrified, but I’m doing it anyway. And he hasn’t brought me back yet. He’s tried, and so far I’ve _won_.”

            Jean let out a breath of air. “You have your little bodyguard,” he said, voice tight. “I have no idea why you trust him, but –”

            “And you have me.” The words fell into the air, struck the floor, ricocheted round Jean’s head.

            It was the wrong thing to say, and as Jean finally turned his head to look at Kevin, it was clear Kevin knew it. Kevin looked away the second Jean’s eyes met his. Jean’s whole body was tense, and he was exhausted, and he’d never felt so angry.

            Kevin left the room.

 

After that, Jean managed to sleep for 12 hours. When he saw the time he sat bolt upright, wincing as pain shot through his body at the sudden movement. He’d never slept so long, and felt shame like a weight in his stomach. Legs unfolded beneath him and he tested his feet on the floor, toes curling around grey carpet. He started putting pressure on his legs, and sighed. He fumbled around the bedside table, found painkillers, and took 3, dry, swallowing hard. He sucked in a breath, gripped the mattress, and stood up.

            Most of the pain was in his torso, on his arms, his face, his scalp. A result of punches and cuts, hair pulling and scratching fingernails. But his leg had been kicked out from under him to get him on the ground, and he had a spreading purple bruise just below his right knee. The leg wobbled pathetically underneath him, but he would get this under control. He’d lived through this before.

            He wanted to shower. The bandages covering long cuts and a broken rib made the possibility of that harder, so he hobbled to the bathroom and found a small towel, wetting it in the sink, grabbing soap and stroking against revealed skin. His right hand hurt too much from split knuckles, so he used his left hand, undressing himself and taking his time. He redressed, and focused on white, wet floor tiles every time his mind filled with unwanted thoughts. These were the only clothes he had. He had nothing. He had no one. He had to go back. Focused on cloudy condensation on the mirror to blur out his beaten expression.

            After what felt like an hour he made his way downstairs, phone gripped in his good hand – still turned off, but the only possession he had left – and heard someone moving around in the kitchen. When he got there he was surprised to see not Abby, but the Fox’s coach.

            He paused in the doorway, but there was no way his laboured movement and heavy breathing went unnoticed. Coach Wymack got another mug out of a cupboard and held it up to Jean, still not looking at him. “How do you take your coffee?”

            Jean hesitated. “Black,” he said, and added, “thank you.” It was second nature, to be grateful for everything he was given, things he didn’t deserve, but he couldn’t help a little bitterness escape with those words. Before he could stop himself he said, “You can’t keep me here.”

            Wymack didn’t respond, busy with the coffee maker and sugar and milk and – it hurt Jean’s brain to follow his fast movements, so he pulled himself onto a stool and leaned his weight into his arms on the counter. Wymack put a black coffee in front of him, placed a second mug opposite, and took a third out of the room. A few minutes later he returned, sitting on the stool opposite Jean.

            For a few minutes they didn’t speak. Jean had to try again, because he was stuck, he couldn’t just leave, he needed their help. “You can’t –” he started.

            “No one’s keeping you here, kid,” said Wymack, and something burned through Jean at the word _kid_. Before he could snap back Wymack went on, “You can go, door’s right there.” Jean didn’t respond, jaw tense, fingers curled tight around his mug, glaring at a spot past Wymack’s shoulder. “But you can’t go, can you? From what I’ve heard I’m guessing they don’t give you much of a reign at the Nest, so I’m not sure what you’ll do in the way of money. And it doesn’t look like you brought much with you when Renee carried your bleeding body out of there.”

            “I’ll hitchhike,” Jean snarled.

            “Go ahead,” Wymack said, sipping his coffee and wincing at the heat, putting it back down. “It’s a good seven hour journey by coach, so I’m sure you’ll make it there in a few days, more if you’re unlucky. Doesn’t sound much fun with a broken rib, but as you said, we can’t keep you here.” When Jean looked into Wymack’s eyes he was met with anger. “Then again I’m not sure anyone will pick you up on the side of the road covered in cuts, bruises, bandages, bare patches on your head, a limp and that pleasant fucking expression on your face, but,” he shrugged, “like you said no one’s keeping you.”

            Jean looked away from Wymack, glaring at the counter top, knuckles hurting from how tightly he was gripping his mug. He wanted to curl up small, humiliated that everyone knew he was nothing, that he had nothing. He wanted to unfurl his body from the counter, smash his mug against the wall, throw his fist against Wymack, run out of the house with no care where he feet took him, just to hear the pounding of his feet against the pavement, to wrench every piece of him out with each step, to feel it seep away.

            Wymack took another sip of his coffee. “Listen,” he said, heat gone from his voice, “you don’t know me, you don’t trust me, you don’t like me. I get it. Believe me, after what I’ve put up with from your team over the years the feeling’s mutual.” Jean raised an eyebrow at that. “I don’t care. But we got you out, you could have died, do you get that?”

            Jean started shaking his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

            “Don’t I? Riko killed Kevin the day he broke his hand.” Jean couldn’t meet Wymack’s eyes, he lifted his mug to his lips, felt fingers twitching against his thigh. “We took him in, we’ve protected him from Riko this whole time. Moreau,” he said, moving his face so that Jean had to look at him again. “We know about the Moriyamas.”

            Jean felt the blood leave his face, felt air leave his lungs, felt his chest constrict. “How?” he gasped.

            “Kevin told us.”

            “He wouldn’t – the Master –”

            “And he stopped calling Tetsuji that a while ago now.”

            Wymack was quiet after that, finishing his coffee and rinsing it in the sink, padding down the hall and returning with another empty cup. Jean didn’t move. He closed his eyes and let out a shaking breath. “Kevin’s an idiot,” he breathed.

            “Kevin’s _alive_ ,” and Jean was surprised to hear the anger in Wymack’s voice, the volume of it penetrating the room. Jean just managed to stop himself from flinching. He wouldn’t. He wasn’t afraid of the Foxes. Wymack leaned back against a kitchen counter, rubbing his hand over his face.  “He’ll probably come talk to you again today. Please, for god’s sake, at least hear him out. After that you can do whatever you want. You’re not my problem, and we’re not your first choice. But give me that at least.”

            Jean frowned, found himself nodding. Wymack nodded once and left the room.

 

Later, he was lying in bed, curled to one side, painkillers working their way through his body for the second time that day, when Nathaniel Wesninski hurled himself into the room.

            Jean glared at him, body unwilling to move, embarrassed at being seen like this. Behind Nathaniel stood Kevin and Andrew.

            Nathaniel sat down at the edge of the bed. “Hello Jean.”

            Anger pushed through Jean’s body, and he angled one elbow under his body, propping himself up. “Go away,” he snapped, “I have nothing to say to you.” Nathaniel’s face and arms were covered in bandages, scratches and burns poking out from white cloth, and Jean was burdened with memory. His face felt hot. He hated him. He hated the longest two weeks of his life spent with him at the Nest, Nathaniel’s incompetence like a wave of pain lashing both of them, him forced to hold Nathaniel down, Nathaniel forced to lean on him. He’d never wanted to see him again.

            “But you’ll listen,” Nathaniel said, arms folded, unimpressed by Jean’s anger, “because I just told Ichirou where you are.”

            It was mostly white noise after that. Jean scrambling against the wall so he could lean his head against it while he listened, Kevin sinking into the mattress near him, feet firmly on the floor, head hanging forwards, Minyard like a bulldog unmoving from the doorway, leaning against it, face impassive, as Nathaniel spoke.

            He told them a story that sounded like freedom, but tasted like blood, bitter and sticky at the back of his throat. A percentage of their future salaries as pro exy players, in exchange for staying alive. Jean felt chains close around his neck, choked through the sensation, struggled to breathe through the weight.

            When he opened his eyes Nathaniel and Andrew were gone, and Kevin was looking at him. As Jean looked away Kevin leaned back against the headboard, bringing his knees up to his chest. For a while the two sat there, gazing at the desk at the foot of the bed together, lost in thought.

            Eventually Jean said, “It’s not freedom.”

            Kevin replied, “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

            “Nathaniel’s an idiot.”

            “Don’t call him that.”

            Jean turned his head to face Kevin, raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that his name?” he said, voice low and scathing.

            Kevin shook his head, not looking back. “For god’s sake Jean – don’t you get it – this is _over._ ” Jean looked away. “It may not be freedom but it’s a new life, a new world. Na-Nathaniel has chosen Neil Josten, has chosen Andrew, has chosen me. He’s keeping the foxes and we get to keep whatever we want.”

            Jean could feel Kevin looking at him. He flipped words over in his head, still not understanding this thing they’d been handed. “It won’t last,” he said finally.

            “It will last as long as we keep playing,” Kevin said firmly. “And we can’t do that at Evermore. The Ravens are over, Jean. They can’t keep this up with Riko so out of hand. Their two best players, forced out with injuries?” Jean shook his head at _two best players._ It wasn’t quite right, and he couldn’t help the instinctive response. He had always been third best, and he’d fought for it, running a step behind Kevin and Riko his whole life, and it wasn’t nothing. He’d always be number three, and there was no point pretending otherwise. He wanted to remind Kevin who they were, but Kevin went on, “Playing hard is one thing, working hard is one thing, but you can’t play with a broken hand.” He clenched his left fist.

            Jean frowned, clenching his own fists. He didn’t want to say what he was thinking, so instead he said quietly, “If I don’t go back… If I don’t go back now…”

            “They’ll what?” Kevin asked softly. “Ichirou has given you protection. He wants you to go pro. The money he’d make from your career is worth more than family he discarded. If Riko or – or Tetsuji come after us –”

            “You really think Ichirou would be able to stop them? We’d be dead before –”

            “Yes,” Kevin said firmly, and Jean looked him in the eye. “We would be, but they care too much about their own lives to do that. They’d be dead men. I’m sure of it.” Jean let out a breath, but it was shaky, and he still didn’t believe it. “ _Believe me,_ Jean,” Kevin said, and he reached out to fist his fingers in Jean’s shirt. “We’re finally safe.” Kevin’s face was a breath away from Jean’s, eyes firm and sure, glaring into his face, willing him to believe him.

            Jean didn’t know what to believe. The ground was shaky beneath him. He had nothing to lean on. No foundations against which to test these truths. “ _Je dois retourner_ ,” he murmured again, frowning at Kevin, but his voice was shaky, and he couldn’t look away from Kevin’s golden eyes that were burning into his, and he couldn’t remember what they were arguing about, or where they were, and Kevin’s fingers had loosened their grip on his shirt and slipped up under it, running shivers up his chest, and it was like no time had passed at all.

            Kevin’s gaze didn’t soften. “ _Tu ne reviens pas_ ,” he said, and kissed him.

            It wasn’t like it was before; back then snatched pieces of time had necessitated hurry, had necessitated quiet and _come on_ , had been hot breaths against necks and fingers scrabbling under thighs, parting quickly when they heard noises approaching or hands against mouths when groans became too loud. It was not looking at each other during, or after. It was stolen glances during practice and team meals, it was never saying out loud this thing they were doing, it was laughing at homophobic jokes and watching helpless as Riko pounded the gay out of a freshman, it was stitching the kid back together later, in the middle of the night. It was holding hands afterwards for the two minute walk back to their dorms. It was never speaking of it again.

            Now Kevin kissed him like he didn’t know where to put his lips, mumbling unsure against Jean’s. Jean froze under his hot breath, beneath the fingers dancing up his chest. His lips started parting against Kevin’s, against his wishes, and they surged against each other.

            It had to be gentle, because Jean was a broken thing, and Kevin kept his fingers light on Jean’s skin, his other hand gripping a gap in the bandages on Jean’s arm, Jean’s hands kneading at Kevin’s waist. But they kissed like they remembered, even though Jean wasn’t sure he did. He wasn’t sure he’d ever understood this, but warmth spread through him, and it was enough to temper down fear, and anger only fuelled them, and pain grounded him, so he chased it again and again, opening beneath Kevin, as Kevin reached for the hem of his sweatpants, as he allowed himself to be swallowed whole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suggested drinking game for this fic for the words “Jeremy” and “Knox” you can start now but you may be a little disappointed, I’m here to help you drink responsibly

Part 1: #11

 

Jean woke up Tuesday morning with no memory of having gone to sleep the night before. He frowned as he came to consciousness, pain hitting him like a shock of memory. He groaned quietly, hand reaching out to his bedside table to find painkillers. He sat up, took two, and looked around the room. He was very quickly growing tired of his surroundings. Yellow daisy wallpaper and a Fox tshirt were not his choice of aesthetic. But it was more the clawing sensation at his skin, the pounding panic that reared against his chest whenever he couldn’t keep it back; just because Neil Josten was a naïve fool Jean wasn’t going to be complacent. He would never be safe from Tetsuji. And Riko…

            Jean picked up his phone. It had sat, turned off and useless, for days. He wondered if he had any texts from Riko. Whether they’d be kind, asking him to come back, not apologising but implying things would be different if he did. Or reminding him of his place among the Ravens, that they needed him and that they couldn’t win the final without him. Or if it would just be a simple order, one word, _Come_ , like he knew that’s all it would take. It was probably the latter. Jean placed the phone back on the table.

            He thought he could hear voices downstairs, and moved to stand. There was a sweatshirt on the floor. It was orange and white, the number 2 pressed to the back. Kevin’s. Jean reached out and picked it up, nose scrunching against the assault of colour. He let it fall to the ground. He was bored of wearing the same clothes, but he wouldn’t wear Kevin’s hoody, and especially wouldn’t wear anything of the Foxes’.

            Kevin had left abruptly yesterday, after one of them had startled backwards – Jean couldn’t remember who had come to first, after the heady height of pleasure had crashed away, after all they were left with was the grey day, each other – and must have left his hoody behind. Jean considered. He would leave it on the floor. After starting out of the room he turned back, folded the hoody and neatly set it on the bed.

            He limped into the bathroom and set to washing himself in the sink again.

            Downstairs he was unpleasantly surprised to find a welcome party.

            “Jean, right?” said a too bright voice at the stove, flipping pancakes. He recognised the guy but let him introduce himself anyway. “I’m Nicky! Nicky Hemmick. You probably know everyone else…” Jean raised an eyebrow at Kevin, who was stood in one corner, hands in his pockets. Kevin shrugged. Neil and Andrew were sat at the table along with Andrew’s twin, Aaron. Jean had never spoken to Andrew’s brother and didn’t see why today should be any different. He wouldn’t talk to Neil or Andrew either.

            He walked over to the coffee maker and poured a cup of coffee.

            “Uh, so,” Nicky said, continuing on through Jean’s silence, “Kevin said you probably need clothes. No offence but you don’t suit orange.”

            “Trust me, the feeling is mutual,” Jean said, looking out the kitchen window at the garden, bright spring heat pounding curling grass.

            “Right,” said Nicky, an anxious look at Kevin, before continuing. “So we’re here to take you shopping! Uh, but there’s too many of us to fit in the car…” Ah, there was that legendary Fox intellect Jean had heard about.

            “I have class,” Aaron said, and Jean was unsurprised that he sounded as monotone and uncaring as his brother. He wondered which of them was going to be harder to ignore. “I’ll ask Abby to give me a ride to campus.”

            Jean couldn’t help but shoot a look at Kevin. He didn’t want to spend time with these people, and wasn’t sure why any of them thought he’d want to.

            “I’ll stay behind too,” Neil said, and Jean looked down at his feet, at his coffee cup, into Kevin’s eyes, anywhere but Neil. “I want to go for a run. You can come get me when you’re done.”

            “Sure?” That was Andrew, and Jean decided he’d definitely be more of a bother than Aaron.

            Neil nodded, getting up from the table to take a plate of pancakes from Nicky. He left with it without looking back.

            Jean felt mildly relieved; he didn’t care, but if he’d had to pick he didn’t want to deal with a new Minyard and didn’t think he could be in the same room as Neil for longer than a few minutes. Perhaps Neil felt the same.

            “Right,” said Kevin, clearing his throat. “Uh, Jean, do you want breakfast?”        

            Jean looked at the pancakes Nicky was dealing out onto plates with distaste. “Pancakes?”

            Kevin shrugged. “If you can’t beat them…” he started, sitting down at the table.

            Jean shook his head. But he hadn’t eaten much for a few days, and his stomach felt empty. He sat at the table, irritable when a plate of pancakes was put in front of him. He poured the same meagre amount of maple syrup on his as Kevin did, and was disgusted by the amount of syrup Aaron and Nicky used. It wasn’t until Andrew was squeezing the bottle like he wanted every last drip that Jean actually had to turn away.

            He looked up at Kevin to see him looking back. So he turned to Nicky. “I don’t need your help,” he said, low and heated.

            Nicky blinked. “Sure dude,” he said, “but you can take it if you want. It doesn’t look like you brought anything with you. Uh, I don’t know if you have any money…”

            “It’s none of your business,” snapped Jean.

            “I’ve got it,” said Kevin, and Jean raised a glare at him. “Use my card until we can get your things sent from Evermore,” he suggested, looking directly at Jean in a challenge.

            Jean had no choice. He felt all the fight in him die and poked miserably at his pancakes.

He had nothing.

 

The trip to the mall could have gone better. Jean refused to speak to Nicky or Andrew again for the rest of the day. It was easy enough with Minyard, as he didn’t speak to Jean either. Now that Jean knew Andrew and Neil were together, he figured they blamed Jean for what happened to Neil over Christmas. That was fine by him. The loathing was mutual.

            Nicky on the other hand talked non-stop. Kevin had directed Jean to the back seat of Andrew’s car. Jean, used to doing what Kevin told him, got in without question, and regretted it the minute Nicky turned to him and started talking. Amongst Nicky’s tiring rants was a sexual innuendo directed at Andrew and Neil, which got him a punch in the arm from Andrew and a resulting swerve in the road. Jean rolled his eyes and looked away, but he was working things out one at a time.

            In the clothing store Andrew and Nicky wandered off, Nicky chatting nonstop and Andrew pulling clothes from hangers as they went. Jean turned immediately to Kevin. “They’re children,” he observed. “How do you stand it?”

            “With difficulty,” Kevin murmured. He picked up shirts as they walked in navy blues, dark greys, forest greens. Jean followed behind him, quiet, as Kevin found him underwear, jeans, sweatpants, a hoody.

            “I don’t need all this,” Jean snapped when his patience finally lost it over Kevin fingering a jacket. “I have clothes at Evermore.”

            “None you picked out yourself,” Kevin replied.

            “I’m not picking any of these out myself,” Jean retorted.

            “Sure, but they’ll look good on you,” said Kevin, and Jean didn’t have it in him to point out that nothing had really changed. “Nothing black, trust me, it’ll help with the culture shock.”

            Jean stuffed his hands in his pockets and followed Kevin to the register.

            By the time they got back to the house Neil was there, hair wet from a shower and sat on the couch watching tv. Andrew and Nicky joined him, and Kevin followed Jean upstairs with his purchases. “I can buy your stuff for a while,” Kevin said, as Jean nodded, unpacking tshirts and picking out a pair of jeans to wear. “Just ask if you want anything.” Jean nodded again, a numb feeling settling over him.

            Kevin hesitated, then walked over to Jean. Jean looked at him without pause. They were the same height, and Jean put a hand into Kevin’s hair as Kevin settled a hand at his waist. Jean leaned in first, but this kiss had none of the warmth of yesterday’s, and he felt like he was watching it happen to someone else. Kevin squeezed lightly at Jean’s hips then pulled away, a questioning look in his eye. He didn’t ask if Jean was ok. He wasn’t that stupid. He closed the door behind him.

 

The next day Jean was starting to feel better. He knew it would take much longer to fully recover, but the pain was no longer overwhelming, had settled to a dull ache in his muscles, his skin, his face. He still moved slowly, knew it would be stupid to overexert himself. But he had a shower, and changed into new clothes, and took his first deep breath in days. He assessed himself in the mirror. The clothes were plain enough, but they fitted him well, and he hadn’t often worn jeans at the Nest – most of them opted for Raven sweatpants, as they spent enough time in the gym or rushing between the court and the dining hall that there wasn’t much cause for anything fancier. The jeans were a dark blue, and he’d picked a light grey tshirt. He thought it probably matched his dark eyes and dark hair, thought that probably nothing would match the sharp scars on his face. He touched fingers to the #3 tattoo on his face, as he often did when he was feeling uncomfortable, letting the sense of who he was rush back into his body with force.

            After breakfast with Abby, which had become a regular thing, sitting quietly in the kitchen while she offered him coffee and small talk, he retreated to his room and sat on the edge of the bed. His fingers twitched on his knee.

            It was the first time in days he wasn’t asleep, or exhausted by pain, or crowded by other people. He needed a distraction. Getting lost in spirals wouldn’t help. He picked up his phone, considered it, and put it back down, going back downstairs to Abby.

            He cleared his throat in the kitchen doorway. “Abby?” he said, addressing her by the only name he’d been given and for the first time since he arrived.

            She looked up, surprise on her face. She smiled at him quickly. “Yes? Do you need anything?”

            “I want to contact Renee,” he said, “but my phone is dead.”

            “Oh, do you want to borrow a phone charger? The boys are always leaving them here, I bet we can find you the right one…”

            “Oh, no,” Jean said quickly, “that’s not necessary. Do you have her number? I could call her from your landline.” Abby nodded, standing without any further questions and handing him her address book, holding it open to _F_. Various Foxes’ names were scattered down the page. The paper was thin, pencil had clearly been erased multiple times over the same places. He found _Renee Walker_ and went into the living room, picking up the landline. He dialled her number and waited. “Renee? It’s Jean.”

 

Allison Reynolds drove by with Renee, and Renee spent two minutes convincing Jean to get in the car with them both. It was a warm spring day, but Jean grabbed the plain navy hooded sweatshirt Kevin had bought him just in case. After a second’s hesitation he put his dead phone in the back pocket of his jeans, and followed Renee out to Allison’s offensively coloured car.

            He lowered himself gingerly into the back, squeezing his eyes closed against all the pink. When he opened his eyes Reynolds was turned round, facing him. “So it’s true,” she said. “We got lumped with another loser.”

            Jean scowled at her. “Believe me, I’m not staying.”

            Renee placed a hand on Reynolds’ arm and smiled at her patiently, so Allison let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes, placing sunglasses on her face. “Whatever, Raven.” She peeled away from the pavement and Jean clenched his fists in his lap. Allison dropped Renee and Jean off downtown, close enough they could walk back to where the Foxes lived on campus, and Renee walked Jean through the sights. Not that there was much to Palmetto, but Jean found himself tilting his face up to the sky, squinting against the sun.

            “Can I offer a gift?” Renee said shyly, smiling at him. “I probably missed a birthday somewhere.”

            Jean frowned at her. “I don’t need anything,” he said tightly.

            “That’s why it’s called a gift,” Renee said, steering him into a shop and making him try on sunglasses. He refused to comment on any, so she bought him a pair she liked. He wore them out the shop, and had to admit it made the brightness of the day marginally more bearable. They walked until they found a park, and Renee bought them sandwiches from a guy in a truck who flirted with her, and they sat on a bench to eat them.

            Jean hadn’t really wanted to talk, but he was taking one day at a time, and his biggest priority at the moment was to think as little as possible. So Renee was a useful distraction, and so far it had been successful, her pointing out historical buildings or telling him local trivia, buying him sunglasses and a sandwich he couldn’t pay her back for, all without expecting him to talk back.

            “So Jean,” she said, and he looked away from her. “How are you doing?”

            Jean frowned. He didn’t respond. He heard Renee sigh. “I’m sorry. That’s a stupid question isn’t it. Of course you must be confused, and…”

            “Don’t,” is all Jean managed before he could continue. He balled up the sandwich’s empty wrappings, standing and hurling them into a bin before sitting back down.

            Renee was smiling when he next looked at her. “Ok,” she said, “I get that you don’t want to talk…”

            “I don’t.”

            “But have you given any thought to what you’re going to do now?”

            The question was a sharp tug at his skin. He shook his head. “I don’t…” he said again, but faltered. “Kevin will –” but at this he stopped too.

            Renee cocked her head. “Kevin will what?” she asked gently. When Jean didn’t finish the thought she said, “Kevin will know what he thinks is best, Jean, but you might not agree. I know about the deal Neil made, I understand you have to keep playing Exy. But the way I understand it you can play for whatever team you want.” Jean said nothing. “Have you given any thought to where you might like to live?”

            Jean stood up and started walking away, but Renee was quick to hurry after him, setting an easy pace alongside him. “I know this isn’t easy,” she said. “I know no one’s ever given you choices before…”

            “I don’t have a choice now,” he said, taking his sunglasses off. He didn’t like the way they obscured his eyes, wasn’t sure what he was communicating with them on. “It’s all just pretend.”

            Renee considered this before saying, “What’s pretend about being given control over the next five, ten, maybe even fifty years of your life? You’ve been given permission to play for whatever team you like. And after that you’ll be allowed to retire in peace. Isn’t that what you want Jean?”

            Jean didn’t look at her. He didn’t say anything. She’d never understand.

            “The Foxes would have you,” she said, and that startled him.

            “I’d _never_ –” Jean started, glaring at her.

            She held up her hands in surrender. “I know,” she said with a smile. “But the offer’s there.”

 

They walked back to campus and Jean followed Renee into her accommodation block. He felt adrift, irritated at being tied to these people. He’d always been tied to someone, but at least at the Nest he’d known his purpose. Now he was just being passed around until someone figured out what to do with him.

            Kevin opened his door and Renee smiled at him. “We went for a walk,” she said, nodding at Jean, “so I brought him back here. Perhaps he could come with us to practice?”

            Jean opened his mouth to protest but Kevin cut him off. “Yes,” he said. “Coach wants a word with him.” He looked at Jean, uncomfortable. “Uh, if that’s alright.”

            _How kind, he's considering my feelings._  Jean looked away, and said nothing. Renee wandered off and Kevin held the door open wider, so Jean stepped inside. He was in a living area, Nicky sat at a desk working; he could hear a shower running, hear voices from with the bathroom. Nicky grinned at Jean. “We pretend we don’t know they’re in there together,” he said, gesturing towards the bathroom. “They walked past me, they know I know they’re in there, but they’re playing a psychological game with me, and I don’t want to lose.” Jean had no idea what Nicky was talking about, and didn’t care, so looked at Kevin, awkward.

            Kevin pointed towards a chair at another desk so Jean sat down. “Do you want a drink?” Kevin asked, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room. Jean shook his head. “Right,” said Kevin. “We’re going in a few minutes. Um, actually…” he trailed off and gestured at Jean to follow him. Jean stood and they went into Kevin’s room.

            Kevin shut the door behind Jean and left one hand against it, staring thoughtfully at the floor. After a few seconds he said, “Jean, do we need to talk–”

            “No,” said Jean quickly, heat rising at the back of his neck. He scowled at a spot on the floor close to where Kevin’s gaze was directed. Kevin walked up to him, reached out a hand then drew it back.

            “At some point,” Kevin said softly. It was softer than Jean could bear, softer than he’d ever heard Kevin speak before; the Nest didn’t tolerate anything but extremes, you either broke or refused to break. There was no room for anything else.

            Jean glared at Kevin. Kevin pressed forward and kissed him urgently, forgetting Jean’s injuries and running a hand down his chest. Jean winced but when Kevin moved backwards Jean slammed into him, pushing him against the wall, feeling pain shoot all over his body, uncaring. He kissed Kevin because he had nothing else left of him; because he wanted to remember something good. As they kissed, Kevin’s tongue licking into his mouth, hands riding up the back of Jean’s sweatshirt, all he could remember was movement: panted breaths, urgency as Jean filled Kevin’s body, Kevin twisting back to whisper _yes_ , nothing that he could remember of how he’d felt.

            The door opened and Jean tore away, staring at the same spot on the floor. Dull grey carpet stared back at him as he fought to get his breath under control.

            Neil walked into the room, making light conversation with Kevin, but it was stilted, quiet. Kevin running one hand through his hair, Neil not acknowledging Jean. He’d seen them.

            Back in the hallway Jean was greeted by more Foxes, and he knew them all – he’d had to learn their roster off by heart – but he ignored them. His patience for socialising with anyone that wasn’t a Raven had thoroughly worn out, and he felt tiredness and irritation pound through his skin. He let introductions bounce off him and scowled at Kevin, waiting for permission to leave. Kevin sighed and lead him outside. Nicky walked off to ride in a truck with the others, so Jean found himself climbing in the back of Andrew’s car again, Kevin in the middle and Aaron on the other side.

            Kevin’s thigh was warm against his, and Jean stared at a fixed point out the window. Every time the car bounced over a pothole he closed his eyes, counting breaths. Finally they made it to the Foxhole court, and Jean followed the others inside.

            He’d been here before, more than once, on game nights. Had never been following the Foxes to their lounge, their lockers, when he was here. He felt twitchy, the word _traitor_ bouncing around in his head, a shiver passing through him at the thought of what Riko would say if he saw him. _Traitor_.

            Kevin’s hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts. “Wymack wants to see you,” he said, and lead Jean to their Coach’s office.

            Inside, Coach Wymack was sitting at an absurdly messy desk, papers every which way, holding one in his hand and glaring it like it held a problem he couldn’t solve. He looked up when Kevin and Jean entered – Andrew at their backs – and gestured for them to sit down. Andrew shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

            “Jean Moreau,” Wymack said, as if considering his existence for the first time, “best backliner in college exy, in need of a team.” He held up his hands. “Kevin says you should stay here.”

            Jean shot a look at Kevin. Kevin raised eyebrows at him, unimpressed by his anger. “Why wouldn’t you stay?” Kevin asked, voice low. “We’re going to beat the Ravens at finals,” Jean huffed, amused, “and next year we’ll be the best team going into the year. Don’t you want that? It’s what we had before.”

            Jean shook his head. “You won’t beat him,” he said.

            “ _Them_ ,” insisted Kevin. “The Ravens are more than one man and Riko is getting weaker every day. Imagine us on the same team again, Jean. We’d make any team _unbeatable_.”

            Jean shook his head again, but merely stared at the floor, humiliation coursing through him at his cowardice. Kevin looked up at Wymack. “He’ll stay,” he said, voice firm.

            But Wymack was slow to speak. “Kevin –” he started.

            “It’s fine,” said Jean, lifting his head to meet Wymack’s eyes. “I’ll do it.”

            Wymack didn’t look exactly convinced by that response. “If you’d prefer, there are other options. Jeremy Knox –”

            “Jeremy Knox,” repeated Jean, disdain heavy in his voice, “wouldn’t have a place for someone like me.”

            “Someone like you,” repeated Wymack. He let the words hang in the air. He glanced at Kevin before looking back at Jean, looking uncomfortable. “Kevin, give us a minute would you?” Kevin stood and left the room without question, and Andrew followed him out. When they were gone Wymack said, “Listen kid, you know you have options here. You don’t have to go from doing whatever Riko says to doing whatever Kevin says.”

            Jean merely looked at him. He felt anger rumble upwards through his body, and pursed his lips together. He leaned forward. “You say that,” he said slowly, voice awful, “like you have any _fucking_ idea what you’re talking about.” He stood up abruptly, chair crashing to the floor, and walked out.

            As he headed back to the lounge his heart beat heavy against his chest, and his body braced himself for a fight he knew wouldn’t come; but years of holding back words against the Master didn’t train him for anything else. It didn’t matter either way, he shouldn’t have lost his temper, there was no _point,_ it wouldn’t get him anywhere, Wymack shouldn’t have to restrain himself against violence, Jean shouldn’t go looking for it in the first place.

            The Foxes were sat in armchairs and couches, but there wasn’t any space for Jean. Kevin stood up as he approached, but Jean just took himself off to a wall and slouched against it, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. It had been a long day, and his broken body was starting to feel the consequences. He was surprised to feel a weight land next to him and opened his eyes to see Kevin standing inches away, arms folded, eyes trained on where Wymack had just entered the room.

            “Foxes,” he barked, and the room fell into silence. “I’m sure you’re all eager to get to the extra laps I’m having you run today after how piss poor slow you were at last week’s match,” a few groans escaped at that, but he cut them off, “but first we have something we need to discuss.” A few heads turned towards Jean. “Jean Moreau, former Raven starter, backliner, sophomore. Needs a home. He’s willing to stay but I want a consensus from the team first. Thoughts, questions, concerns?”

            There was a few moments’ silence before Nicky raised an unsure hand. “Uh, not to be rude, I’m sure the guy’s great, but I’m wondering…” he faltered.

            Aaron crossed his arms. “He’s wondering what happens to the two of us once you’ve got the two best backliners in the NCAA.”

            Jean didn’t feel anything at this remark, it was just the truth, but he looked at Matthew Boyd to see what his response was. Boyd shifted, looking uncomfortable, but didn’t say anything.

            Wymack glared at Aaron and Nicky. “Nothing changes, you prove to me you’re worth putting on the court every night and you’ll be put on the court, same goes for Matt and Jean. What else?”

            “I don’t care,” said Reynolds, sending a look to Jean, “at least he’s hot, so he won’t bring us down on overall attraction.” Wilds elbowed Reynolds who merely grinned, and Jean looked away. He didn’t care about any of this. He didn’t want to be here, knew they probably didn’t want him here either, but what choice did any of them have?

            Wymack sighed heavily. Then he looked at Andrew and Neil. “I assume we’re not going to have any problems.”

            Neil shook his head, one hand on Andrew’s wrist, and just said, “No, Coach.”

            Wymack assessed them with a heavy glare, then nodded. “Right. Well in that case, Jean’s our new backliner, he’ll start with Matt, and we won’t recruit anyone else for that spot in the spring. Welcome to the team, Moreau.” He nodded at Jean who managed to nod back, feeling the familiar numbness creep back into his bones.

            Everyone started moving, the end of the conversation apparently a cue to get changed for practise, but Kevin looked at Jean. “Let me show you around,” he said, and walked Jean through the home team rooms. Jean followed him obediently, looked around with disinterest, feeling more and more claustrophobic with every new piece of information.

            Finally Kevin opened doors that lead to the stadium, and as Jean moved towards the plexiglass walls he found his breath again, inhaling the air of the stadium as deep as possible. “I guess this is your home now,” Kevin said into the air.

            Jean didn’t look at him. “Ok,” he said. He finally turned to Kevin, then looked back to make sure the door was shut. He kissed Kevin, kissed the day’s exhaustion and frustration into the only person he had left, kissed away confusion and the pain of his body until he forgot what skin he was in.

            Eventually Kevin pulled back, panting softly. “I have to go… change,” he gasped.

            “ _Ce soir_ ,” murmured Jean against him.

            Kevin nodded, hands on Jean’s cheeks and lips nipping at Jean’s one last time before he turned away to leave. Jean leaned one hand on the wall, breathing deep and waiting for his lungs to settle. He lifted his head and observed the Foxes’ court, wondered if he’d need to bring his sunglasses to face all this orange on a regular basis, leaned back against the wall with arms crossed and waited until the Foxes started piling in.

            As Nicky passed him he grinned, and held out a hand. “Jean,” he said, “let’s try again. You’re going to try very hard not to be my friend, but you will fail. Just ask Neil.” Jean raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t care enough about Nicky to ignore him, so he just shook his hand and followed him to the bench.

            “We haven’t discussed your number,” Nicky said. He glanced around. “There’s nine of us, but I guess they won’t be ready to give away Seth’s number, not when the year’s not even finished, so… that would make you number eleven. That sound ok?”

            Eleven. It sounded like nothing at all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> c/n: suicidal thoughts

Jean had competed against the Foxes, saw first-hand how incompetent they were, how unworthy to face the Ravens: but watching them practise was a new low.

            He sat, knee jostling up and down, eyes intent on the Foxes as they ran up and down court, not enough players for a full scrimmage even. Aaron and Nicky’s skills wouldn’t even be enough to sit them _near_ the Ravens’ _bench_ , and Kevin’s skills were completely wasted when there was no one there to catch them. It made Jean furious.

            Neil ran like his life depended on it, and Andrew occasionally shone when he bothered to shut the goal down, occasionally beating balls at his teammates’ ankles. Jean rolled his eyes.

            Dan Wilds’ biggest strength was in how she kept a keen eye on every player at once, always knew where the ball was going, how to bring out everyone’s strengths. But she wasn’t _enough_ , wasn’t critical enough – Jean started a list in his head of every weakness she wasn’t pointing out.

            Boyd was worth watching: Jean recognised he’d potentially be his partner, so started analysing his playing technique. He relied slightly too much on his size, knocking into Kevin or Neil like that’s all it took to defend the goal. But he knew how to keep them back, knew how they played and used it against them. That wouldn’t help much in a game against players he didn’t know, but it wasn’t nothing.

            When the Foxes were finally called off court by Wymack, Jean stood up, itching to talk to Kevin. When Kevin arrived by his side he started hissing at him in furious French. “ _Kevin, what was that?”_ he demanded, ignoring stares from the others.

            Kevin shook his head. “ _Don’t_ ,” was all he said.

            “ _Was that supposed to be Exy? I didn’t recognise it_ ,” Jean snapped, crossing his arms. “ _How often do they practise? How many hours in a day.”_

Kevin shot him a look. “ _Jean, don’t get started. It’s… not everything they need, but they give what they can.”_

Jean shook his head. _“It’s pathetic, and if I’m going to stay they need to work harder. How do you stand it?”_

At that Neil walked over. “ _You don’t need to stay at all,”_ he said in French, joining in, wiping sweat off his face with a towel. He had a dangerous look on his face, and although his teammates couldn’t understand his words Jean noticed them looking on in concern.

            “ _You think I’m here by choice?”_ Jean snarled. “ _We’ll get on better if you don’t speak to me, Wesninski.”_

            They may not have understood French, but at the word ‘Wesninski’ every Fox looked their way, even Wymack stilling where we was speaking with Dan further away. “What did you just say?” Boyd said, walking over.

            But Neil was rolling his eyes. “Don’t bother,” he said to Boyd over his shoulder. “Someone’s just missing Riko.”

            Jean’s fist was punching Neil before he could take in a breath. Neil was on the ground,  but he kicked up at Jean’s body, foot colliding with Jean’s broken rib, and he winced, doubling over and falling to the ground, and then arms were hauling Jean up and backwards, Kevin pushing Jean behind him as Andrew lifted Neil off the ground, turning to look at Jean. “Hey Jean,” Andrew started, voice calm, gripping tightly onto the arm of a furious Neil.

            “Andrew, _don’t_ ,” Kevin snapped, and Andrew settled for turning a knife around in his hands. Jean had no idea where it had appeared from. Kevin looked at Jean, switching back into French. “ _It doesn’t work like that here,_ ” he said, eyes boring into Jean’s. “ _We have to find another way. I’ve spent a year finding another way, you have to trust me._ ”

            Jean shook him off, still catching his breath, burying down the pain in his chest, and started walking away when Wymack shouted, “Moreau, my office, now. Neil, you too. No, Kevin, Andrew – you stay here. I want every doing three cool down laps, then you’ll listen to every word Dan has to say before you leave. Let’s go.” Everyone moved at once, and Wymack walked ahead of Neil and Jean, leading them away from the court.

            In his office he didn’t bother shutting the door, didn’t bother sitting down, just leaned against his desk and glared at Neil and Jean, as if contemplating who to deal with first. He settled on Neil. “Are you deaf?” he said. “When I asked if this was going to be a problem, I expected you to tell me the truth. I thought we were passed this.” Jean didn’t know if he was referring to Neil being a liar or Neil being an _asshole_.

            Neil glared back. “Sorry, Coach,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “won’t happen again.”

            Wymack rubbed his forehead. “That doesn’t bring me any comfort.” He turned to look at Jean. “Look, you can’t fight here. It’s a new thing we’re trying out, and it doesn’t hold up a lot of the time but goddamnit we were getting there. I can’t let you stay if this is going to be a problem. Do you understand?” Jean stared at him, clenching his jaw, considering responses, considering just turning and running, considering…

            He breathed in, and nodded.

            Wymack looked between them. “You’re going to have to work together, so if you can’t play nice don’t speak to each other at all, you got me?” He dismissed them, and Neil and Jean left the office.

 

Later that evening Kevin arrived at Abby’s. He was alone, and Jean heard a car driving off before the door shut. Heard Kevin and Abby exchanging pleasantries before Abby retreated to her bedroom. Kevin came into the living room and sat on the couch next to Jean, putting his offering down on the coffee table.

            Jean raised an eyebrow at the white plastic bag. “Take out?”

            “Sushi.”

            They ate in companionable silence, and after a few minutes Kevin picked up the remote and turned the channel over so they could watch an old exy match. After a few more minutes they started speaking in quiet French, analysing the game, dismissing the commentators, discussing teams and tactics and _god_ this was what Jean remembered. This. This safety, this quietness, this companionship. This _getting_ each other, this exchange of words in Jean’s language, this feeling tired at the end of the day and not having to be anything but this.

            They turned to each other at the same time, and this time kissing was a soft thing, it was one ear focused on exy commentary, one lip brushing Kevin’s, one hand stroking through his soft hair, one breath spent with a head rested against the back of the couch, just existing in this place, one moment of surprise as Kevin’s lips caught Jean’s again, as Kevin’s fingers hovered over Jean’s bare hip.

            It was letting every strained thought leave him as Kevin followed him upstairs, as they brought the covers over their heads; as they whispered slowly against each others’ skin; as Jean pulled at Kevin; as Kevin scrunched up his face and leaned against him; as Jean nudged at Kevin’s neck and thought nothing at all.

 

Sometimes it was easy to pretend he was still in the Nest. Mostly when he woke up, alone, eyes tight shut, body having not moved yet. Imagined opening his eyes to blackness, weaving his eyes through textures to sort wall from bed, from floor, until he was awake enough to notice the difference.

            Here, it took no time at all to sort through.

            Jean sighed and got out of bed. He looked at his phone, looked at his pile of belongings, pulled out the darkest clothes he could find, pulled them on without washing, considered his options, and went back to bed. He pulled the blankets high over his head, winced at the feeling of cloth pulling against scars, and sunk.

            He felt exhausted.

            The Foxes hadn’t taken him back to practise the day after his fight with Neil, and he’d spent Thursday alone. Tonight was the Foxes’ match against Binghamton, and he knew they’d be busy all day preparing.

            So he could spend the day in bed, and no one would notice.

            There was something comforting in that, at least.

 

At 5pm Abby knocked on his door. “Jean?” she threw into the room, cautious.

            Jean raised his head lightly above the covers, as if waking up.

            “I’m heading over to the court, do you want to join me?”

            Jean sat up gingerly, the same heavy weight in his stomach. He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” is all he said, but he thought Abby would understand. He didn’t know if Riko knew where he was, but if saw him on tv, at a Foxes game – it wasn’t worth the risk.

            Abby nodded, smiling sadly at him. “Ok. But it will be on the tv if you want to watch it. Getting out of bed might be good for you. And there’s leftovers in the fridge.” Jean managed a small nod and she left the room.

            Two hours later, when lead had turned to acid in his stomach and apathy dissolved into restlessness, Jean got up. He heated lasagne, one eye on the tv, listening to the commentary, watching the dish turn round and round in the microwave. He made his way over with it to the couch, and settled in.

            It wasn’t a bad match. He was actually impressed with the way the Foxes rallied in the second half, the defence line scrabbling together like their lives depended on it – but their footwork was sloppy, their aims relied too much on Neil and Kevin knowing where they were aiming, and they couldn’t rely on luck and adrenaline to carry them through every match. They beat Binghamton 7-5, and Jean leaned his head back on the couch, arms folded, eyes drooping. He wasn’t sure what difference it made. The Ravens would win in the end. He always did.

            With his eyes closed and his knees up to his chest he heard interviews on the tv, and only started listening when he heard Kevin’s voice. Some platitudes about the Foxes, and the Trojans, his usual love song for Jeremy Knox, and then he said, “I don’t want to talk about the Ravens anymore,” and Jean opened his eyes, turning his face towards Kevin’s. On the 44” screen his face looked calm, confident. Brushing his old team aside like he wasn’t covered inch by inch in trauma. Like he had survived. Like… like he couldn’t care less. Jean put his feet on the floor and leaned forward, frowning.

            “Ever since my mother died it’s been Ravens this and Ravens that. I am not a Raven anymore. I never will be again. To be honest, I never should have been one in the first place.” Jean’s heart beat fast against his stomach, his chest, his arms. “I should have gone to Coach Wymack the day I found out he was my father…” Jean tuned this out. He knew this, didn’t care less whether Kevin kept his biological family a secret or not. Wasn’t sure why anyone would care. _I am not a Raven anymore. I never will be again._ His skin crawled, and he itched his fingers inside his pocket, feeling his dead phone like a weight in his stomach.

            “…I thought the only way to be a champion was to be a Raven. I bought into their lies that they would make me the best player on the court. I shouldn’t have believed it; I’ve been wearing this number long enough to know that wasn’t what they wanted for me.” Jean blinked. Realised the room had gone dark with the waning sun; the lack of light pulled at his vision, threw horrors of black walls against his itching skin. Jean’s heart pounded so hard it drowned out Kevin’s next words. He felt nauseous, and cradled his head in his hands. But he was lucid enough to hear, “Did you know, I’ve never been skiing?”

            Jean made it to the downstairs bathroom before throwing up, dry retching into the toilet, body shaking and nerves torn to shreds. Riko’s hands were on him and he felt his stitches pulling open, he was watching a horrified Kevin sinking against the wall, Riko was licking the #3 tattoo on his face, and blackness was crowding everything. He threw out a hand blindly, finding a cord and pulling on it; light flood the small room and he forced his eyes open, squinting against the sudden light, scrabbling backwards and leaning against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest.

            Jean breathed in quick breaths, tensing and untensing the muscles in his face but keeping his eyes on the ceiling light until spots flooded his vision.

            He didn’t understand what made Kevin Day so fearless, so special, number 2, Riko’s favourite, prince of Exy, worthy of Neil and Andrew’s protection – while Jean lay crumbling and alone in a stranger’s bathroom.

            He played with the phone in his pocket, took it out and eyed it, too afraid to turn it on. Imagined messages from Riko. _If you don’t come back yourself we’ll just drag you back, you’re nothing_ , or, _Why do you think we care? You are nothing Jean,_ or, _I hope you don’t think this means freedom you worthless nothing piece of shit_ –

            Jean placed one hand on the sink and shakily hauled himself up. He eyed the mirror above the sink, saw familiar deadness in his eyes. Ran a cold finger over his clammy tattoo. Felt Riko at the edge of his vision. Opened the cabinet. Assessed the contents inside.

            Outside a car pulled into the driveway and Jean closed his eyes, tight against tired skin, and closed the cabinet with one hand. He stayed there a second longer, heard the door unlock, then stepped outside.

            Nicky appeared first. “Jean!” he said, too loud, and Jean had barely been spoken to that day, had barely spoken at all, and it rang in his ears. “Did you watch it? We won man! We were great I’m telling you –” and then Neil walked in, smiling at Nicky indulgently, moving to sit on the couch, Andrew close behind him. As Nicky chattered Jean kept one eye on the door until Kevin appeared, leaning against the doorframe, looking pale and worn like he’d just run a marathon.

            Jean had felt dead all day, but at the sight of Kevin anger prickled hot against his skin. He interrupted Nicky’s rant, in harsh French, “ _Do you have a death wish? Or are you just stupid?”_

            Nicky shut up, looking cautiously at Andrew. Andrew had locked eyes on Jean, tuned in to his mood, started rising from the couch. Neil looked bored; he was the only other one who could understand what Jean had said. Perhaps he’d already said this to Kevin.

            “ _Why do you have so little faith in us?”_ Neil shot back.

            “ _I thought we’d been over this Josten,”_ Jean said, not looking at him, letting as much contempt drip into the name as possible.

            “Stop it,” said Kevin quietly, in English, meeting Jean’s gaze. He waited to be sure he’d been heard by everyone, then said, “It’s done. There’s no… there’s no point in this.” He took in a deep, ragged breath, and Jean blinked, realisation hitting him. Kevin wasn’t calm. He wasn’t confident. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said to Jean that he didn’t know how to stand up to Riko but was doing it anyway. Jean didn’t know what to make of that, how to categorise it, how to understand it. He’d only ever known breaking, or refusing to break. Jean was a broken thing, and he didn’t know what to make of the Kevin before him.

            “Ok,” said Nicky slowly, looking from Kevin to Neil back to Jean, “well, if your little chat is over, uh, we came to invite you to a party!” Jean dragged his eyes to Nicky’s, frowning, his thoughts muddy. “Uh, if you want to come. We’re celebrating our big win! There’ll be cheerleaders there, which I’ve heard is a draw for some people.” Jean raised an eyebrow. How had they gone from Riko to _this_.

            Kevin cleared his throat. “You should come.”

            Jean looked at his feet. He didn’t want to go. Didn’t care about the Foxes, _certainly_ didn’t care about cheerleaders, couldn’t keep his thoughts away from what he’d been contemplating before Kevin arrived. Couldn’t get Kevin’s words out of his head. Felt like he could sleep forever. He looked back up at Kevin and saw the tired expression on his face. “Ok.”

 

The party turned out to be 30 people in a basement and enough alcohol for 50. Jean leaned against a wall, watched Andrew leave, Neil following not long after, tried to remember how you enjoyed these things. The Ravens had parties, but not often – only at the end of a season, only when Tetsuji’s back was turned, and only when Riko wanted to. And it always still managed to be about the game: they were competitive, full of dangerous drinking games and showing off; jumping from the roof or breaking into cars; truths like _who would you fuck_ and dares like _go on then_.

            Jean swirled the liquid round in his cup, eyes glazing over.

            A girl walked up to him, she wasn’t wearing a cheerleading uniform but she didn’t have to. “You don’t look like you’re having any fun,” she said with a smirk, pouring herself another drink.

            Jean looked at the brandy in her hand. “No,” he said.

            “Shame,” she replied, and slumped at the wall by his side, drinking the brandy straight. “How come?”

            Jean looked away. “Parties are pointless,” he heard himself say. For some reason this made the girl laugh, and she introduced herself as Millie, and Jean let her talk about cheerleading and exy and Geography for five minutes, nodding in the right places, before Aaron and a blonde girl appeared to drag her away. Millie winked at him as she moved away to dance and Jean sighed, feeling tired.

            A hand clapped on his shoulder and he jumped slightly, looking to see Matt Boyd at his side. “Not your thing?” Jean frowned, confused, and Matt gestured at where Millie was dancing with some other cheerleaders. Jean shook his head, sipping his drink, and Matt laughed. Matt was several inches taller than Jean, and when he laughed he laughed with his whole body. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “You didn’t think to tell her that?”

            “What’s the point?”

            “The point is like it or not you’re a Fox now, so, I guess you’ll be sticking around. If it would help we could just make out in front of everyone.” Jean spluttered into his drink, but Matt laughed again and said, “Joking, joking,” and Jean couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at his mouth.

            “So, we haven’t really talked yet,” Matt said, leaning his body sideways to face Jean. “I uh, don’t really know anything about you except what Kevin’s told us. And I don’t really get the impression you’re happy to be here. But you should know we all think Riko’s a fuckface.”

            Jean tensed and looked away. “The way you Foxes talk is so…”

            “So what? Rad?”

            “I was going to say unsophisticated but I think they’re the same thing.”

            Matt gave him a serious look. “You don’t have to talk to us but you should know that you can. We’ve kept Kevin’s secrets. We’ve kept him together, we’ve kept him here. Maybe one day you’ll trust us too.” Jean didn’t say anything to that, let his eyes burn into his nearly empty cup. Wondered where Kevin was. “Anyway,” Matt said, straightening, “It’s great to have you on the team man. Aaron and Nicky are great, but it will be good to have some new life in the backline.” Matt talked to Jean about Exy strategies, and the discomfort in Jean’s stomach etched away, as he let _Exy_ fill his bones.

            An hour could have passed when Nicky and Kevin finally appeared. Nicky rolled his eyes. “Guys we’re at a _par-ty_.” He sounded drunk. “Will you _please_ stop talking shop and come dance. Matt, Dan is seriously considering divorcing you.” They looked over to where Nicky was pointing and Dan was shaking her head, grinning. It could have either meant _Nicky is an idiot_ or _I’m seriously considering divorcing Matt_.

            Matt grinned, and turned to Jean. “Sorry, duty calls.” He let Nicky pull him away, and Jean watched as the two reached Dan, as Matt pulled her into a kiss, into dancing with Nicky, as the three Foxes’ arms tangled and untangled in time with the beat.

            “Having fun?” Jean cast a scathing look at Kevin, who was attempting to hold himself still and upright against the wall. “I know,” said Kevin dramatically with a sigh. “It’s like a child’s birthday party compared to, to…” He didn’t finish that sentence.

            “Is this better?” asked Jean, downing the rest of his drink and moving to top it up. He wasn’t really sure what he was asking. He still couldn’t make sense of Kevin here, in this place that didn’t seem to fit him.

            Kevin looked at him when he’d finished pouring his drink. “Yes,” he said, and didn’t elaborate. Kevin’s eyes held Jean’s firmly, and he couldn’t look away. Kevin had been his best friend, his brother, his inspiration, his jealousy and his spite and his rage and his…everything, for so long now, he didn’t know how to. Kevin grabbed Jean’s sleeve, and tugged him gently away from the wall, not breaking eye contact. Jean moved obediently into his space, shared breaths for one second, two, then Kevin pulled away, dropping Jean’s arm, moved off into the crowd of people. Jean followed him. It wasn’t a large room, a few tables pushed to the side, a speaker set up in one corner, but everyone was dancing. By the time they made it to the Foxes Jean felt a prickle of claustrophobia shoot through him. There were too many people. And now Kevin was dancing and… had Jean ever seen him dance before? Kevin was dancing, and Nicky was winking at him, and Dan and Matt were moving together in a way Jean had to look away from, and – had he had too much to drink? Every time he blinked the lights flickered off and all he could see were black walls.

            Kevin grabbed his sleeve again and pulled him against him in time to the beat. Jean didn’t look away, didn’t speak, wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Felt Kevin’s hands at his hips, saw him start to lean in and Jean turned his face away.

            “Kevin… you’re drunk.”

            “Isn’t that when it was always best?” Kevin breathed into his ear, and Jean froze.

            He saw Nicky grinning at them, whispering something into Matt’s ear. Jean felt hot, and pushed Kevin away from him. “Fuck off,” he spat, shaking with anger, and pushed his way out the room.

            Jean didn’t know where he was. He knew they were in the basement of Fox Tower, where they all lived, so he started off by climbing stairs. When he found a lobby he headed for the front doors and pushed them open, rocking on his feet at the sudden crash of still air. Held his head up to the stars and breathed in the light of the moon. Let oxygen race through him and begged the panic to subside.

            To his surprise it wasn’t Renee, or Matt, or Kevin who followed him out, but Nicky.

            “Hey, dude… are you ok?”

            Jean closed his eyes, continued his heavy breathing. There was no point being angry at Nicky. Nicky was one of the few Foxes Jean had no preconceptions of. Which was partly because Nicky was a lousy player. But also because he stayed out of the limelight. Jean only knew about him what everyone knew about that family, and most of that attention was on Andrew. He opened his eyes and looked over to see genuine concern on Nicky’s face. “I’m ok,” Jean said. “That was… That wasn’t Kevin’s fault,” he managed to add.

            Nicky looked sceptical, put his hands in his pockets and looked back at the door. “You and Kevin… are you a thing?” Jean paused, then shook his head, unable to form words in his throat. “Maybe that’s the wrong question. _Were_ you a thing?” Jean looked away. Suddenly wished he’d stayed downstairs, kissed Kevin, danced harmlessly with Foxes, that he could just _have this_ like anyone else could.

            “Ok, I get it, none of my business,” Nicky said, but he was still frowning behind them, as if warding off anyone that might follow.

            Jean let out a deep breath. “It’s complicated,” he muttered.

            “No kidding,” said Nicky, turning back to face Jean. “Listen you don’t have to tell me… but if Kevin’s being a jerk all you have to do is tell Andrew.” He grinned.

            Jean frowned. “But Andrew’s… I thought they had a deal.”

            Nicky shrugged. “Yeah but… not at all costs. If Kevin’s…” Nicky paused, considering his words. “Look, in there it kind of looked like he wanted something you didn’t. Don’t let him push you around.”

            Jean felt shame course through him. “It’s not like that,” he snapped, and Nicky took a step backwards. “Don’t presume you know anything about us, Fox.”

            Nicky sighed. “Great talk,” he said, managing a strained smile. “Look, Matt’s said you can crash in his dorm tonight. He shares with someone, but they have a sofa. I don’t think anyone’s sober enough to get you back home tonight.”

            Jean grit his teeth, not looking at Nicky. As soon as the anger had flared up it died away. It didn’t matter what these people thought of him, what he thought of them. All he had beneath his feet was concrete. “Ok,” he said, hearing his own voice tired and broken. “Thank you.” He let Nicky lead him back inside.

            On the top floor they paused at Kevin’s dorm. Nicky knocked once and waited. It took a few minutes for anyone to answer, and then the door was open and Andrew stepped back. “Subtle as a gay flag at pride,” said Nicky with a grin, as Neil arranged himself nonchalantly against a desk. “I need your room key Neil, Jean is gonna crash on your sofa.”

            Jean turned and walked back into the hall. He leaned his head gently against a wall. He didn’t think it could get any worse.

            Neil reappeared and walked off down the hallway, so Jean followed him. He unlocked a door and gestured inside. “We’ve got blankets,” he muttered, and left the living room briefly, returning with a bundle a second later. He dumped them unceremoniously on the sofa then eyed Jean warily. “Ok?” he asked.

            Jean nodded, looking at Neil. He noted the slight bruising on his cheek where Jean had punched him, nestled amongst scars and old burns. “Ok,” Jean said, and Neil left.

 

To say Jean was woken by banging noises implied he’d slept at all. Between Neil and Matt coming back in the middle of the night, someone showering late at night and again in the morning before leaving at sunrise with a bang, and lying on a couch considerably shorter than him, Jean had barely managed a few scraped together hours. He ran a hand over his face. At least he hadn’t had a chance to forget where he was. _Nowhere_.

            The banging continued so he propped himself up on one elbow. Aaron was walking through the room carrying a box of books, dumping them on a desk near Jean’s head, and leaving again. Jean didn’t think he’d spoken to Aaron yet, and that was fine by him. He sat up, wincing slightly. He’d left his painkillers at Abby’s.

            Neil came out of the bedroom with a box in his arms, and nodded at Jean. “You can shower, if you want,” he said. “Matt will lend you some clothes.” Jean nodded as Neil left the dorm, but he just wanted to go back to Abby’s.

            Then Matt appeared. “Hey, you’re up!” he said. And then looked round at the boxes in the room. “Sorry, some of us weren’t pre-warned about moving day.” At a questioning look from Jean he added, “Neil and Aaron are switching rooms. It’s kind of a long story.” Jean stood up and stretched gently.

            “Ok,” he said. “I should probably get back to the house. Do you –”

He stopped when he heard Wymack’s voice bellowing in the corridor. “What the fuck is going on?”

            Matt sighed. “Well, at least your ride is here,” he said with a smirk.

            In the hallway Wymack was stood with his arms folded in front of Neil.

            When Jean and Matt appeared in the hallway Wymack looked at them and rolled his eyes. “There you are,” he said to Jean, “Thanks for letting us know you’d be crashing over, Abby’s been worried about you.”

            Jean frowned, but before he could reply Matt said, “Sorry Coach, last minute thing. We kind of stranded him here.”

            “I don’t wanna hear about it,” said Wymack, turning back to Neil. “What’s going on?”

            “Me and Aaron are switching rooms,” Neil said. Jean, entirely uninterested in this conversation, turned his back to head back into Matt’s room, when two people walked out of Kevin’s dorm. Kevin, and –

            “Oh,” said Jean, into the air. “Thea.”


End file.
